


"But I was telling you about love, about my love."

by Brightwing27



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Character Death, Character Study, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Love, Trauma, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 02:23:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19984495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brightwing27/pseuds/Brightwing27
Summary: Lyudmilla brushes her lips against Vasily's, tender and shy, like its the first time. "I love you." She has no idea how much.





	"But I was telling you about love, about my love."

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Voices From Chernobyl. No disrespect to anyone in this work, I was just really moved by Lyudmilla Ignatenko's story.

Death and love go hand in hand. No one knows this better than Lyudmilla. Sometimes she still wakes up in the night, reaching for him from her side of the bed. It seems to be centuries before she remember's that he's buried under cement in Moscow. She shivers, arms wrapping around herself. The world is cold.  


********

"You've got two left feet, my love." They're dancing in the kitchen, months after the wedding. Vasily is smiling at her in the dim light of the evening, and she bursts into laughter at his lopsided grin. "At least I'm not dancing all over your feet!" Her retort makes him laugh harder, forehead resting against Lyudmilla's. They act as if they've known each other forever. Like their love has lasted longer than they have. Lyudmilla brushes her lips against Vasily's, tender and shy, like its the first time. "I love you." She has no idea how much.

The explosion shakes the dishes in the cabinets, the cup in her hands spilling over. She feels his arms around her as the sky glows eerily above the plant, blue light in the middle of the night. They send him, of course. Vasily was never able to keep himself out of trouble for long. "What if there's chemicals?" She asks. He's shrugging on his gear, laughing like its the silliest things in the world. He's reassuring her, he thinks, kissing her worries away as he heads out the door. The dutiful husband protecting his wife, pure and normal. Its the last bit of normalcy they'll ever have again.  
******

We're like fish swimming upstream, Lyudmilla thinks as she's struggling to get into the hospital. When she had heard the firemen were being brought in, she left without her scarf and keys.

_Vasily._

_Vasily._

_Vasily_.

One linear thought as she made her way up the street, through the crowd, under the ropes and into the front room. The hallways are filled to the brim with people. White flashes past and she grabs at the nurse, desperate. "I'm here for my husband-"

"Not now."

Lyudmilla stares after the nurse for a second, but _Vasily_ rings out in her head again, making her move quickly through the halls. A baby cries to her right, red blistered hand reaching out. "Take her, please." Another nurse is yelling, telling her to go, and her head spins as the baby wails. She moves on.

"Please, take her!" She's too afraid to look behind her.  
******

The hospital in Moscow is bleak even with the sun shining. She's been here for a few days, and Vasily has his own room, wasting away alone. Lyudmilla hates that thought, Vasily being alone. So she sits at the foot of his bed, talking about normal things in a trembling voice. 

"Will you open the curtians?" He's lying there in the dark, she thinks. He hates being in the dark. So the curtains come open, and the sunglasses come on. Vasily knows he looks ridiculous, all bandaged and bloody with his designer sunglasses. Lyudmilla is worried, so anything to make her laugh makes him feel better. His wife is upset, so he must make it better.

"You fool!" Her laughter is high pitched, beautiful. Laughing hurts, burns up his chest, but it makes her smile so he continues. Its the bleakest day in Moscow, except for this one moment, this patch of sunlight on a stormy day.

********

_I love him._

_I love him._

"He's not your husband, not anymore." The nurses voice echoes in her ears, white noise as she enters the room. Vasily doesn't look like Vasily anymore, the skin she used to kiss burned and blistered away. His hair has gone, the hair she ran her hands through when they held each other on cold nights. Vasily doesn't look like Vasily anymore, but the nurse was wrong.

He's my husband, she thinks as she sneaks through the plastic. _My Vasily._ His hand is scabbed over as she holds it in her own. _My husband._ She holds in the tears, not sure if he's even conscious, but she doesn't want him to see her cry because of him. "I love you." And then she's being pulled through the plastic, hand being pulled from his, a bit of skin clinging to her palm.

_I love you._

********

Death and love are the same, she thinks. They go together, through the good and bad times. When the night comes Lyudmilla lies awake in bed, hands cold. Vasily used to hold her when he slept, like a child holds a teddy bear.

He'd kiss her neck, her cheek, her nose. He'd always save her lips for last, like he had to make himself wait. "You're too lovely, Lyudmilla. You make me ache with your loveliness."

The house is a ghost, and she cries more than before. "Vasily." She whispers his name when she washes the dishes, plants the flowers, folds the laundry. When she remarried, she tells her new man about Vasily. "I go away sometimes, in my head. I go away to him, but I always come back cold." He understands, doesn't ask questions when she goes quiet.

She reaches for Vasily in the night, the phantom husband, the phantom baby they almost had. She's happier now, a son and a new man. Lyudmilla knows death like an old friend, like she knows love. She's happier now, but a hole in her heart will always be missing. _Vasily._


End file.
